BSNYC Friday Kosher Wine-Tasting Festival!

Every 75-ish years, Halley's Comet travels close enough to the Earth to be visible to the naked eye, which causes astro-dorks all over the world to rejoice--until July 28th, 2061, when astronomers predict that it will almost certainly smash into Dayton, OH, wreaking chaos and devastation and bringing an immediate and fiery end to all life on this planet.

Similarly, once a year, cyclocross "Cyclocross 2.0" comes close enough to New York City that agoraphobic urbanites can observe or participate in it without overnight stays or having to post impassioned "Can I get a ride?" pleas on cycling forums. Not only will there be a race on Staten Island tomorrow (of which I reminded you last Friday), but the following weekend the Super Cross Cup moves from its usual Southampton venue to the considerably-much-more-closer-to-the-city Eisenhower Park in East Meadow, LI:

It's at times like these that I pause to reflect on what a great place for recreational cycling the New York City metropolitan area actually is. For all the congestion, the truth is that there's enough going on here to make Portland, OR hang its dreadlocked head in shame. During the season, you can race a road bike as often as two or three times a week without getting in a car. There is a velodrome in Queens. There are mountain bike trails within the city limits and others easily accessible by commuter rail. There are year-round group rides north, east, and west of the city all year round, and there are racing and general riding clubs all over the region that are too numerous to mention. And on top of this recreational cycling bounty, New York City has also made tremendous improvements for bicycle commuters, so if you have no interest in going fast or clearing obstacles and just want to ride to work or the store, you can now do that more easily than ever before.

All of which makes the goings-on in this article, to which I was alerted by fixed-gear freestyle impresario and streetwear enthusiast Prolly's blog, completely ridiculous:

This is just more evidence that everyday practical cycling in New York City is still stuck in early puberty. Sure, people on bikes race each-other everywhere now and again, but nowhere else does it happen like it does here, and it's become impossible to cross the Manhattan Bridge without some Nü-Fred coming at you head-on because he's out of the saddle and stomping past a "peloton" consisting of a 35 year-old man on a department store BMX, a "Beautiful Godzilla" on a Dutch bike, and some guy who looks like Napoleon Dynamite.

How do you know you are being challenged into a commuter’s race? "You just sense it, or the other person is making it obvious,” says Johnny Hsu, a graphic designer who lives in Greenpoint. “There's no formula.”

Yes, there's nothing as suspenseful as that pregnant moment in which one "hipster" with a boutique nylon U-lock holster and a 12 year-old entry-level GT track bike he paid $2,500 for on eBay meets another "hipster" in a corduroy jacket riding a keirin bike with Nitto Albatross bars and they both lock eyes, each suddenly realizing that "it's on."

There's also nothing sadder than a guy old enough to know better who clearly doesn't:

“Competition among cyclists is a reality,” says David, a self-employed 47-year-old who rides over New York's Manhattan Bridge every day on his way home to Brooklyn. “[For me,] it starts before the bridge. Once you start jumping to the wrong side of the street you know you’re in a commuter’s race. Everyone wants to go faster. I get smoked sometimes and it’s embarrassing if you’re challenging the person. Once I know I can’t [win], I let them go.”

Embarrassing indeed. When commuter races commuter, the only winner is disgrace. Commuters who race other commuters in New York City are like the people who live around the corner from a pizzeria yet continue to order from Domino's--there's just no excuse for it. There's so much organized competitive cycling in New York City that we even have bike polo for chrissake. I mean, I'm not the biggest bike polo fan in the world, but while I've been "raced" a million times on my commute I have never, ever had anybody roll up and start playing unsolicited bike polo against me, so for that reason alone the poloists have my respect.

In any event, if you're feeling the need to satisfy that competitive urge, I now invite you to participate in a quiz. As always, study the item, think, and click on your answer. If you're right you'll know, and if you're wrong you'll see how awesome people are.

Thanks very much for reading, ride safe, and if someone tries to race you on the way home I suggest you let them "win."

--BSNYC/RTMS

("Good for you.")

1) After your Cat 6 hipster commuter race victory over the forces of dignity, why not reward yourself with the smooth, refreshing taste of a:

--PBR
--Williamsburg cigarette
--Hummus-and-vegan-bacon sandwich

--New hobby, like Rollerblading

(Riccardo Riccò: A Terminator-like warrior sent back in time from a cheesy future to assassinate good taste.)

2) According to Riccardo Riccò, "The Cobra" is:

--Deadly
--Awesome
--Dead
--In his pants

(If even he doesn't know then how are we supposed to?)

3) According to framebuilder Dario Pegoretti, steel smells exactly like:

--Steel

--A thousand sleepless nights in Bangkok

--Victory

--A heavier aluminum that rusts

(All You Haters Mourn My VDB)

4) The best way to complement your Frank Vandenbroucke rim "memorial" is with a:

--Frank Vandenbroucke memorial calf tattoo

--Frank Vandenbroucke memorial bedding sale

--Frank Vandenbroucke memorial fast food breakfast special

--Frank Vandenbroucke memorial mobile recumbent shrine

5) Why are these cyclists riding bamboo bikes "from the Arctic to the Antarctic?"

--To "raise awareness about bamboo's viability as a frame material"

--To "raise awareness for the global water crisis" by carrying a bottle of water from one ocean to the other

--Because their route will take them along the longest panda-free corridor in the world

--Because it "beats working"

6) Influential pop musician and cycling advocate David Byrne has a car.

--True

--False

(Matthew Modine engages in some Highlands-style cyclocross.)

7) "Married to the Mob" guy and aspiring cycling advocate Matthew Modine has a car.

--True

--Does it even matter?

***Special Paradoxical Craigslist Negotiating Tactic-Themed Bonus Question***

With regard to price, the seller of this bicycle is:

--"Firm"

--"Open to offers"

--Both

--Neither

The Indignity of Commuting by Bicycle: Out of Step

If you travel regularly by bicycle, you may have noticed that the way others behave towards you can seem cyclical. Sometimes, you're in a positive cycle, during which other cyclist wave at you, motorists afford you the respect you deserve, and riding a bicycle seems like just about the best way to get around since the "riding ostrich." Other times, you're in a negative cycle, in which every cyclist you encounter is a salmon barreling right at you, motorists revile you and buzz you, and you fantasize about moving out to the country and starting a riding ostrich farm.

Of course, it's not always easy to tell whether the world is in fact conspiring against you, or you're projecting your own foul mood onto your surroundings, or it's simply a little bit of both. Regardless, I couldn't help feeling as though I'd entered a negative cycle yesterday when I set out to ride into the "big city" in order to take care of some "business." The first indication was when I encountered a double-parked truck or van of some kind.

When you ride (or drive) in New York City, double-parked cars, trucks, and vans are simply a fact of life. They pick up and disgorge passengers, they transport bedbug-ridden furniture, and increasingly they deliver gourmet groceries to people who can't be bothered to go to the supermarket. In any case, as inconvenient as they can be, you'd think circumventing them would be a relatively straightforward proposition for all involved. Let's say, for example, you're a douchey bike blogger, there's a double-parked car in front of you, and there's another car that's well behind you:

Now, you can't pass it on the right because there's not enough room and/or there's a bedbug-ridden sofa coming out of it. Therefore, logic would dictate that you instead pass it on the left:

Then, the driver of the car that's quite a ways behind you also passes it on the left:

What could be simpler?

Well, unfortunately, that's not how it works here in practice. Instead, what actually happens is that you pass the car, but the driver who's a little ways behind you is disgusted by the double-parked car, the douchebag on the bicycle, and, most of all, himself for reasons that probably go far beyond simple traffic inconveniences and instead involve things like sexual dysfunction and health problems due to an exceedingly poor diet and a sedentary lifestyle. So, the driver beeps at you and yells at you from behind his closed window for reasons you don't quite understand, but which you assume have to do with the fact that he wanted to mash on his pedal and pass everybody and everything in one burst of horsepower. Also, he does so in the middle of the cellphone conversation he's having, which is prohibited by New York State law.

So now you're simultaneously riled and depressed after having been yelled at by a fellow human being for no good reason. Fortunately, though, the new bi-directional lime green bike lanes of the Great Hipster Silk Route are near, and you look forward to finding solace in them. Unfortunately, as you enter the new bi-directional lime green bike lane, the stocky fellow in the Aqua & Sapone jersey who doesn't realize it's bi-directional and is riding towards you right in the middle of it curses you out in a language you don't understand.

Now, I can understand his confusion, since these lanes are pretty new and if you've been riding in the city for a long time you're sometimes tempted to continue following the old patterns that are imprinted in your brain. I'm sure that was the case with him, and that I was in effect "salmoning" through his vestigial memory banks. Still, at a certain point you've got to read the writing on the wall (or in this case the little pictures of bikes and arrows painted on the street) and adjust. The truth is, you can't keep living in the past--and believe me, I've tried, but they just don't build ziggurats the way they used to.

Then again, since I didn't understand his language maybe he wasn't cursing at me at all. Maybe he was just apologizing really vehemently. Or, maybe he had materialized through a wormhole from the pre-bike lane days, which would explain the Aqua & Sapone jersey.

Anyway, it was getting to be one of those days where you feel like the world is rejecting you like a cirrhosis patient rejecting a donor liver. I wondered if it was indeed I who was "out of step," as Ian MacKaye used to shout from between his Pantani-eque ears, and if I should instead just move to some sort of slow-moving rural backwater like Portland, Oregon. Then I mounted the Williamsburg Bridge, where I started to think more positively and told myself, "At least I'm not riding a skateboard," since they seem to be getting the worst of it:

Incidentally, it's worth noting that the skater figure is sort of "scissoring" the pedestrian.

Meanwhile, I was correspondencing with my newleywed blogleague Stevil Kinevil, the esteemed operator of the "All Hail The Black Market" Internet destination and family fun factory, and he shared with me the following video starring respected framebuilder Dario Pegoretti:

In it, he talks a lot about how steel smells:

Having already seen the preview for this film, I'm pleased to report that the finished product should more than meet your expectations (assuming your expectations involve poetic descriptions about how metal smells). I can also say that this film has had a profound affect on me. You see, I've never owned a custom bicycle. This isn't because I don't want one--far from it. Like any cyclist I would love to own a bicycle made just for me by a highly skilled craftsperson. Furthermore, I always thought that, one day, when I had the time and the means, I would treat myself to a handmade bicycle that I could ride and enjoy for years to come.

Until today.

In my custom bike fantasy, I imagined that getting my custom bike would be a moment of joy, perhaps even a rite of passage in my cycling life--sort of like a Bar Mitzvah mixed with winning an Emmy. Now though I realize what will happen is that a wine-soused Italian man will grab me by my neck and force my face into a stack of frame tubing and command me to "Smell, smell!," and when I cannot adequately articulate why the scent is exquisite (because I have a cold perhaps, or because I just don't understand what he's talking about) he'll whack me on the shin with a downtube and then put his cigarette out in my eye. It's obvious to me now that I am indeed a total "pussy" and thus not cut out for custom bike ownership, and that a life of Scattante palpage is my cruel and pathetic fate.

I guess I'll have to settle for an adult Bar Mitzvah, or else hope that my treatment for "The Dario Pegoretti Show" gets picked up and the series receives an Emmy nod.

Speaking of frightening things, singing person Katy Perry recently "hit up" New York City in order to either do some urban cyclocross or else rob a bodega (from the photos it's difficult to tell for sure):

While I'm glad to see she's riding, I must admit I liked it better when she was on "Sesame Street" in the infamous "My First Erection" episode:

("My eyes are up here, Elmo.")

I do think it's a shame Katy Perry can't ride a bike in New York City without being harassed by the press; if that weren't the case then maybe more celebrities could ride instead of being chauffeured around in huge SUVs. Meanwhile, in the most cruel bit of irony, while Perry attempts to escape the paparazzi, actor and aspiring cycling advocate Matthew Modine is across the street shouting "I'm over here!" and doing some "portaging" of his own:

We know you are, Matthew. We know.

Full Circle: Welcome to the Velodrome

I don't like to use this blog as a forum for my personal problems. (Most of that material goes on my other blog, "All About My Bunions.") In particular, I believe very strongly in not selfishly asking my readers to help me obtain "stuff" I want or need but can't find. For example, as much as I covet a pair of DayGlo Aerospii ("Aerospii" is plural for Aerospoke) for my Scattante, I would never use this blog to put out some sort of APB (or "Aerospoke-Palpage Bulletin") asking people to "hook me up" with a free pair. (Though I certainly wouldn't turn a pair of tarck-tastic Aerospii away were they to somehow wind up on my doorstep, hint hint, cough cough, expectorate expectorate, et cetera.)

This time, however, I am making an exception, since frankly it's a matter of life and death. With money managers in Mercedeseses running down cyclii (plural of "cyclist") the way they are I feel especially vulnerable out there, and I don't feel confident that the law will protect me. For this reason I think my only defense is a genuine Morgan Stanley cycling jersey, as forwarded to me by a reader:

My thinking here is that, should some money manager like Martin Erzinger come bearing down on me, he may notice the jersey, take me for a colleague, and swerve at the last second, thus sparing my life. Sadly though, there are no Morgan Stanley jerseys available on eBay now, which is why I'm asking that if you have a spare one to please pass it on. (If you only have one, I suggest you keep it to yourself, since your life may depend on it.) Rest assured, I'm willing to pay top dollar. (And by "top dollar," I mean I'll produce my billfold, withdraw the three $1 bills currently in there, and give you whichever one is on top at that moment--and one of them's not even Canadian, so you may get lucky.) In the meantime, as a precautionary measure, I'm rebranding all my bicycles as Serottas:

It's only a matter of time before murderous money managers become wise to our jersey ploy and figure out they need to check out our bikes too, and I want to be able to pass muster when they move in for a closer (though hopefully not posthumous) inspection.

But while there may be a jersey that can save you from money managers, I'm not sure if there's a jersey that will protect you from "hipsters" who call you a "pussy" after you ask them not to sit on your wheel, which is what happened to me last Friday. I mean, you could try one of these:

Though in our sordid, Godless society with its ready access to Internet pornography and middle school nurses' offices dispensing abortions for lunch money and crackpot theories about how we're descended from monkeys there's always the possibility that some degenerate with a dirty mind might take it the wrong way. (Or, click here for the "short" version.)

In any case, it so happens that the very person who called me a "pussy" has subsequently posted a comment on Monday's post by way of explanation:

Harry said...

I'm the dickhead on the 'fixie'! Hi Snob!

Just to clarify - my bike had a freewheel - actually, a one speed cog on a Shimano 'freehub' design so I was 'free-fixie'ing it Total poseur move, I know - fortunantly, it worked, as you confused my smooth pedal style and Real Simple chainline for a fixie (thank God). It was also a sweet 'vintage' ride.

My attire was also of the 'fake-enger' variety being carefully 'curated' from 'vintage' thrift shops.

For what its worth - I was drunk and your 'slow' is pretty fast. I latched onto your wheel and was quite surprised by your subsequent reaction.

I am not a 'noobie' but have been riding for quite a while - ever since I learned that bikes helped me get away from my parents for more than an hour - before brifters.

I kinda thought that you, Snob, were a 'hipster' yourself - what with your 'cross' bike and no foot retention (I think). I think I'm also older than you think - more in line with your age than that of your usual asshole-on-a-bike.

Anyway - Sorry to have caused you consternation. I pledge to not use epithets next time - maybe you can pull me to Nyack some time?

-Harry

So evidently he was "surprised" that I didn't want an unannounced wheelsucker tailgating me in the dark--even though he was "drunk," which only serves to underscore how appropriate my reaction was. I think the only thing I'd want following me less than a drunken hipster on a dark street is a SAG wagon driven by Martin Erzinger. (As far the ride to Nyack, I'd love to take him up on that. I'm available on this date or on this date, he can take his pick.)

Almost as scary is that he thought I was "hipster" because I was on a "cross" bike, which means that the scenario envisioned by that video from last year may finally be coming to pass. Alas, there was a time not too long ago when cyclocross was like hipster kryptonite (and I don't mean this kind of hipster kryptonite). In fact, some years ago, in the early days of the "fixie" craze and before I even began this blog, I was riding a cyclocross bike in downtown Manhattan when a klatch of budding hipsters with their new track bikes actually shouted at me to "Get a fixed-gear."

I'd been seeing signs that track bikes were becoming a "thing" before this, but it wasn't until I was actually heckled on the street for not riding one that I suspected cycledom was about to enter into a new age of unprecedented douchery--which indeed it did.

Since then, though, not only did the fixed-gear scene close, but the "hipsters" who were already "grandfathered in" began to embrace the forms of cycling they once reviled. This includes cyclocross. I don't mean they actually started doing cyclocross; rather, they started professing a love for the bicycles and the aesthetic in the same way they had once professed a love for high-end track bikes and velodrome racing while doing little more than practicing trackstands in their living rooms. If you visit any popular fixed-gear-oriented blog you will see that drooling over cyclocross bikes with artfully-applied bits of mud has become Slavering Over NJS Track Bikes 2.0.

By the way, I should stress that there's nothing wrong with any of this--until some stranger tells you to "get a cyclocross bike," or else just calls you a "pussy."

Meanwhile, further to my comments about the "Wednesday Weed" and bike racing in yesterday's post, some marijuana enthusiasts took issue with what they took to be my implication that so-called "stoners" cannot be productive members of society. Rest assured, this is not what I meant at all. I merely meant that, if your goal is to be the best bike racer you can possibly be, smoking marijuana on a daily basis will serve as a hindrance to that goal.

Again, this is not to say that bike racing is somehow less frivolous, debilitating, or delusional than marijuana use; indeed, there are few things more dangerous to your social and romantic life, state of employment, financial well-being, and general sense of perspective than bike racing--which, if you take it too seriously, will lay waste to your life faster than the most addictive narcotic. Marijuana, on the other hand, generally does little more than make you chronically 20 minutes late and compel you to put peanut butter on everything.

Still, the fact remains, if your goal is to be an awesome biker racer, marijuana is probably going to hold you back. Actually, if your goal is to be an awesome crack addict, marijuana is probably going to hold you back with that too. If, on the other hand, your goal is to be happy and have fun, then you simply find the balance that works for you. Nevertheless, some things just don't go together well, as anybody who's ever put peanut butter on hot wings will probably attest. Plus, if "stoners" start taking bike racing too seriously, then the next thing you know people are going to start racing singlespeed cyclocross with power meters:

Though a reader has recently informed me this is already happening:

2011 is going to be all about SRM-equipped bongs.

Speaking of velodromes (which I was at some point), the Brooklyn Paper is reporting on the efforts to have one built in Greenpoint, Brooklyn:

I should start off by saying that naturally I'd be extremely pleased if someone were to build velodrome in Brooklyn. At the same time, though, I'm afraid such a project would be doomed to fail. The track bike-riding residents of Williamsburg and Greenpoint are already not using the velodrome less than 10 miles away, so I don't see any reason they'd be inclined to use this one. Sure, it's closer, but it's not like "hipsters" can't cover vast distances on their bikes if they want to--in fact, they make videos of themselves doing it all the time. They just need proper motivation in the form of free sponsor "swag" and overly dramatic cinematography. Actually, I think they'd have much more success building a fixed-gear movie studio than a velodrome. Customers would simply ride on rollers in front of blue screens displaying the "epic" scenery of their choice, and they'd have ready access to clothing and accessories from companies like Rapha, Outlier, and Chrome.

It would be more popular than karaoke, ironic kickball, and ironic bowling combined.

Wednesday on Tuesday: The System Shall Set You Free

Everybody's familiar with the expression, "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em." This is certainly true when it comes to money managers like Martin J. Erzinger, whose luxury automobile alone renders him nearly impervious to justice. All it takes is a simple phone call from a Pizza Hut parking lot for Mercedes roadside assistance to dispatch a forensics team that removes all traces of your victim's DNA from the vehicle's bumper and transfers it to a nearby Hyundai. Not only that, but a Mercedes will even wake you up if you fall asleep at the wheel, though this feature either doesn't work very well, or Erzinger is lying, or, even more likely, both:

Court records say prosecutors expressed skepticism to Milo at a suggestion by Erzinger's defense attorneys that Erzinger might have unknowingly suffered from sleep apnea, and that might have made him caused him to fall asleep at the wheel and hit Milo.

In any event, since we clearly can't beat Erzinger, we must join him instead, and as I was perusing this profile of him I had an idea:

While Erzinger isn't a very good driver, I have no doubt he's a talented money manager, which is why he manages $1 billion and has a "minimum net worth requirement" of $5 million:

Assets Under Management: $1 billion

Minimum Fee for Initial Meeting: None required

Minimum Net Worth Requirement: $5 million

Assuming there are 500,000 people who are very angry about this whole hit-and-run thing, all we'd have to do is put up $10 apiece, form some entity called something like "All You Haters Suck My Balls Enterprises," and then hire Erzinger to manage it for us. With his financial aplomb, I'm sure in five or ten years we'd have a vast fortune--certainly enough that buying a gaundy vehicle such as a Cadillac Escalade or a Lincoln Navigator would barely register as a blip on our financial statements.

Once we'd secured an appropriate corporate vehicle, then a duly appointed "All You Haters Suck My Balls Enterprises" officer would simply fire it up and then "accidentally" (but not-quite-fatally) run into Erzinger while he was playing golf.

While this may seem like primitive "eye for an eye" justice, the truth is it's far from it. The DA has dropped felony charges against Erzinger because such a charge would "have some pretty serious job implications" for him and "justice in this case includes restitution and the ability to pay it." (In other words, money is apparently justice, and the DA claims he wants Erzinger to be able to keep his job so he can pay Milo as much "justice" as possible.) Clearly then, the DA would also drop any felony charges against "All You Haters Suck My Balls Enterprises" for the same reason, reducing them to a misdemeanor count of "using an inappropriate driver on the green." This would insure that we would be able to pay restitution to Erzinger--who would consequently be further bolstered in his ability to pay restitution to Milo. In the end, everybody wins (though some of them will also permanently limp), and best of all it only cost us ten bucks to run some guy down.

Maybe the legal system isn't so broken after all.

Of course, the big question is this: "What should we do with all the extra money?" Certainly even after legal fees and restitution to the victim and repairs to the AYHSMBE Lincoln Navigator there would still be many millions of dollars left over. Well, ITTET, I would recommend being prudent and investing that money in gold and/or Chris King headsets. Sure, it's not as much fun as cashing out and buying a ski house in Vail where you can kill and maim with impunity, but at the very least I'm sure AYHSMBE would be able to pay its shareholders handsome quarterly dividends in the form of wheels of finest horsehair:

Now that's a horse of a different colorway. When I wrote about Cyclocross 2.0 awhile back, I knew things were getting expensive, but even I never dreamed that cyclocross would involve this sort of exotica or that horsehair would become the next crabon weave--though I don't mean to be a "neigh"sayer, since I'm sure these wheels will look absolutely fabulous with your Rapha mink stole-and-muff set.

Actually, what I'd like to know is what happens to the rest of the equine, and I can't help wondering if horse steaks will soon be sizzling on those Coleman PerfectFlows. If so, I'm sure the more serious Cyclocross 2.0ers will be fretting about how much they can have. Fortunately, the good people at BikeRadar have also provided this handy conversion chart:

Calorie Counting

To get your portion sizes right you need to know how many calories you’re using.

1 Determine your base metabolic rate (BMR). Men: BMR = 66 + (6.23 x weight in lb) + (12.7 x height in inches) – (6.8 x age in years). Women: BMR = 655 + (4.35 x weight in lb) + (4.7 x height in inches) – (4.7 x age in years).

2 Multiply your BMR by the level of activity closest to what you do. Sedentary (little or no exercise): BMR x 1.2. Lightly active (light exercise/sports 1-3 days a week): BMR x 1.375. Moderately active (moderate exercise/ sports 3-5 days a week): BMR x 1.55. Very active (hard exercise/sports 6-7 days a week): BMR x 1.725. Extra active (very hard exercise/sports every day and physical job): BMR x 1.9.

I have no idea what any of that means.

Speaking of training advice, I was stunned when a reader emailed me recently and asked me for some--though it wasn't exactly the sort of thing you'd ask Chris Carmichael:

I'm a first year racer and after racing road this past summer I'm now on to cross. I'm not the fastest, but overall I'm pretty pleased with my results, but now I'm looking to improve some of my finishes. To do this I have gotten more consistent with my training, and I've seemed to feel a Little improvement. I do have one area of my fitness I'm not so sure of. I'm pretty much a daily pot smoker, not a full on stoner but a couple bowls a day without any tobacco of any kind. Does this significantly affect my VO2 max? Pot can't be as bad as tobacco right? How much would quiting affect my fitness (even though I know I won't)?

Now, this may peg me as a "square" or "narc," but I'd say that being "a daily pot smoker" who consumes a "couple bowls a day" is pretty much the definition of "full on stoner." Is it possible to smoke more pot? Yes. Does smoking a couple bowls a day every day mean you're pretty much stoned all the time anyway? Also yes.

This is not to say I begrudge his lifestyle choice. Similarly, I do not begrudge the lifestyle choice of the anal-retentive bike racer, either. However, they're also mutually exclusive, and for most people there's not much to grapple with since choosing one tends to conveniently eliminate the other. You may have heard the old saying: "Strong, light, cheap: pick two." Similarly, when it comes to the "Wednesday Weed" and bike racing, a good rule of thumb is: "Smoking pot all day, winning bike races: pick one." The truth is that it's almost impossible to successfully be two totally different things at once--this sweet bicycle which was forwarded to me by a reader being a notable exception:

Rat Bike - $40 (Sun Prairie)
Date: 2010-11-08, 10:48AM CST
Reply to: [deleted]

Get some street cred with this bad boy. Tribute to old school west coast motorcycles. Still has functional shifters, 3 rings up front and 7 in back. Front shock. Rear brakes. If you see this bike chained up it is for your protection, not to keep it from being stolen! $40 obo.

In any case, I explained to the aspiring racer that it really doesn't matter anyway, since he's consuming a banned substance on a daily basis so any results he gets are technically invalid, which I think like totally blew his mind.

Of course, while the "Wednesday Weed" may not produce bike racing results, it can produce some florid poetry, which I suspect may be the case here:

You have a weak handshake. - w4m - 206 (The impossible address. )
Date: 2010-11-09, 1:15AM EST

I stood in your garden,
I was wearing your t-shirt with no pants on,
my legs exposed to that below average summer night.
I could see the goosebumps running down the length of your forearms,
you seemed to have something on your mind.

I saw your eyes shifting towards my legs,
bruised and cut from a recent bike accident.
"C'est quoi ça?"
You pointed at some specific scars,
still fresh and raw.

"C'est rien!"
You put your shoulder around me,
I started crying.
"Pourquoi?"
You asked while trying to see my tears.

Those scars are still raw,
even months after not spending time with you.
You were everything in a man I could want,
but,
I wasn't your woman.

Speaking of pantslessness and of horsehair (as I was earlier), it remains to be seen whether the trend will trickle down to the "fixie" scene, though one reader has forwarded me the following Craigslist post which indicates that they may be more interested in clear coats made from a shot of ejaculate:

Fixed gear wheelset, Origin8 SS bike, carbon fiber cranks, track bars (Neenah)
Date: 2010-11-07, 10:14AM CST
Reply to: [deleted]

I have a set of EighthInch Tessa wheels that are ready to bolt on and go. Comes with matching EighthInch cog(16T) and lockring already installed and CST white tires and tubes. The hubs and spokes are black and non-machined gold rims. These wheels are spotless and spin true. Normally these run $140 and then $35 for the cog and lockring and $40 for the tubes and tires. All for a whooping $150!

EighthInch gold trackbars. These are brand new never been mounted. I was going to strip the gold anodizing but I just want chrome track bars instead. $20

FSA Pro Team Issue carbon crankset with bottom bracket. These had the decals removed and have some scratches and whatnot from everyday riding but are still in great working condition. With a light sanding and a shot of come clear coat these would look brand new. The bottom bracket is sealed bearing 68mm English threaded(ISO) Shimano unit purchased this past summer from Cranked. $75

Origin8 Cutler single speed bike. I used this as my around town bike with my son. This normally runs $240 from Cranked. 700c wheelset with a freewheel. $150

I've got more stuff like cranks, road bars, aero brake levers, frames...etc. Everything is located in Neenah. Trades welcomed also.

If you ever walk into one of those track bike boutiques and an employee says, "Here, let me clear coat that for you," you should probably refuse.

Wheelsucking and Name-Calling: So Much for "Bike Culture"

As a person whose physical and emotional constitution can best be described as "feeble," I'm not particularly well-equipped to deal with serious matters. This is especially true on Monday mornings, when even the smallest hint of adversity can cause me to writhe and wince as though a Serotta-owning dentist is digging into a decaying tooth with one of those sharp little pokey things. For example, simply waking up on Monday and discovering that I'm out of Froot Loops and chocolate milk is enough to send me right into the coat closet, where I'll often sit gently sobbing for hours.

It's no wonder, then, that I can hardly bear to even contemplate--let alone address--the doughy money manager in Colorado who hit a cyclist and fled the scene, but will not be charged with a felony because that would "have some pretty serious job implications" for him:

The cyclist this doughy money manager hit is a surgeon, and I would imagine that being hit by a Mercedes and left to bleed on the side of the road might have pretty serious job implications for him too, but in terms of importance you really can't compare surgery to managing people's fortunes.

Before you rush to judgement though, bear in mind that the doughy money manager did express concern after the accident--for his car:

Erzinger drove all the way through Avon, the town's roundabouts, under I-70 and stopped in the Pizza Hut parking lot where he called the Mercedes auto assistance service to report damage to his vehicle, and asked that his car be towed, records show. He did not ask for law enforcement assistance, according to court records.

Also, the District Attorney who dropped the charges doesn't want to cost the doughy money manager his job because "justice in this case includes restitution and the ability to pay it."

In other words, treating him like the criminal he is might make it slightly more difficult for him to buy his way out of this and any other future vehicular assaults, and that would be downright un-American.

In any case, it's stories like this that make me want to throw up my hands, burn my pants, turn on the TV, and park it right on the sofa with a sauce pan full of Froot Loops and chocolate milk for the duration of the week. It's also why I tend to focus instead on the petty indignities and monumentally inconsequential "injustices" of cycling and human interaction. Consider for example this past Friday, when I was wronged in a ridiculous, trivial, and extremely non-life-threatening way.

As I mentioned, it was a Friday, and after a long and difficult week doing whatever the hell it is that I do, I donned some Lycra cycling clothing, mounted my bicycle, and headed into Brooklyn's Prospect Park to clear the dust from my legs and the metaphysical residue of the week from my head. It was a crisp autumn evening, and as I circled the park with my feeble legs a-pumping and my front and rear lights a-strobing I was gradually overtaken by a feeling of peace and well-being. I was also overtaken by pretty much every other cyclist in the park, as well as by some of the runners getting in their last-minute pre-marathon miles, since I am, to use some obscure cycling jargon, "slow."

A few laps into my ride I noticed that my shadow had an extra head. Sometimes this can be an effect of the streetlights, which shine from both sides of the street and occasionally cast a chromosome-like double helix on the pavement as a result. However, I turned to look behind me, and my brief glance confirmed that this was not a trick of the light and that I had indeed acquired a pair of hangers-on.

For those of you who don Lycra with any regularity, this will go without saying, but if you're blissfully ignorant of the world of cycling in form-fitting clothing I should point out that sitting on the wheels of strangers--especially when they don't know you're there, and especially in the dark--is a very bad thing to do. First of all, it's dangerous for the same reason automotive tailgating is dangerous, especially in a place like Prospect Park where kids are wont to run out in front of you and lightless salmon are wont to charge at you at all hours of the day and night. The last thing I want in the event I'm forced to brake suddenly is for some wheelsucker I didn't even know was there to wind up humping my back like my helper monkey Vito does after he's watched too much "Nat Geo." Second of all, it's just rude--it's like sidling up behind someone at a urinal and putting your hand on his shoulder, or even joining in uninvited and "crossing the streams." Third, what if the person you're following is afflicted by severe flatulence? You might very well be asphyxiated.

Nevertheless, there are some people who think that, no matter what the circumstances, Lycra clothing and a racing bike mean "it's on." It's the "she was asking for it" mentality of the cycling world.

But it wasn't "on;" in fact, it was very much "off." So I swung off and waved the mysterious riders through, at which point they revealed themselves to be a pair of "hipster" types on "fixie"-type bicycles. I said something along the lines of, "You shouldn't sit on wheels like that" (in the same way you might say to the guy at the urinal, "Hey, you mind backing up a little bit?"), and then moved to the opposite side of the road to further underscore my "it's so very not on" point and allow them to continue on their way. (Fortunately for them, I did not have any flatulence to spare at that moment.) Apparently, though, I hadn't done enough.

"Whatever," replied the first rider, and after I moved over to the other side of the road they latched on to me again. At this point I felt very much like a woman being followed into the ladies' room of a bar by a pair of "frat boys," so I reiterated my request and by way of explanation offered a more succinct version of the above.

By now you'd think that they'd either respect my wishes, or else dismiss me as an old "roadie" fusspot (even though I was riding a so-called "cyclo-cross" bike), but in either case leave me alone. Instead, the de-facto leader of the pair said this:

"C'mon, don't we do this for the danger? Where's the flint in your veins? Don't be such a pussy."

He said this just sarcastically enough for it to be ironic, in the well-practiced manner of someone accustomed to getting his way and with a lifetime's experience in telling his parents off while remaining utterly confident that they will continue to praise him for his mediocrity and keep writing those tuition checks to Bard. It made me extremely angry--not so much because he had called me a "pussy," but more because he had found one of the few people in Brooklyn who would not push him off his bike and break his teeth for doing so. Instead, his childhood had once again received a stay of execution and the bubble in which he lived would remain intact for yet another day.

So I praised his delivery of the line and asked him to repeat it again while I took a picture, but unfortunately I only had a cellphone and it's almost impossible to get a decent shot out of it in the dark:

As I photographed him, be became somewhat contrite:

I didn't bother taking a picture of his friend, who just rode behind him and silently conformed.

Anyway, the Freddy Krueger sweater hipster's explanation for his wheelsucking and subsequent name-calling was to indict me for being a bad cyclist. "Shouldn't you have some responsibility for what's going on around you?," he asked. In other words, if he and his friend want to play "peloton" by riding behind me in the dark, then it's my responsibility to know they're there, accept it, and ride accordingly. Evidently, that's my job as a cyclist.

This irritated me even more than the "pussy" thing. It's like two people having a water balloon fight on the subway and telling you it's your fault you got wet because you didn't duck. Still, while I was irritated I can't say I was surprised. This is what's come of all these fixed-gear blogs and videos and all their nonsense talk of the "zen" state of heightened awareness and how brakeless riding makes you think "five moves ahead." It's the same attitude that informs the following comment that was left on my blog last month:

Anonymous said...

Okay so I'm new to NYC, from Seattle - and I'm no dumb kid. Only been here for a few weeks, and I love the free-for-all style out here. Doesn't matter if it's cars, pedestrians, or other bikers - you know everybody is going to behave as selfishly as possible. Where I'm from, the cars yield you (the biker) the right of way when it's NOT YOUR TURN TO GO. So you sit there and wait for them, while they are trying to show how polite they are. It's not polite when you inconvenience everybody by holding up the proper flow of traffic. Believe me, it's hectic here, but that's not a bad thing.

I ride pretty aggressive in traffic. I lanesplit, I overtake cars on the left or right or whatever. I - what is it called where you creep thru the crosswalk (not blocking it, okay) at the light to cut the intersection as soon as you can - Shoaling? Yeah I do that too. But you know what else? I don't endanger or inconvenience anybody else with my riding because I have enough skill on my bike and I keep my eyes open. I don't cut people off and I don't hit pedestrians.

I don't take risks that legs cant get me out of, I have a brake on my fixie, I have front and rear lights on my bike at night. I don't worry about getting doored because I am aware of the danger and I don't get close enough to cars that might fling a door open at me. When I'm heading into a narrow street with pedestrians I slow down a bit and keep my eyes on everyone at the margins, the cars on either side of me, and the driver seats of the parked cars. I've never been hit, I've ridden this hard for years.

What ever happened to personal responsibility? I will never claim that I "almost got killed by a driver" because I assume that the driver in the car to my left might swerve at me unexpectedly. When they do, I see it coming and I swerve. I never claim I "almost got killed" by that car backing down the street because I know that certain types of people are willing to do that when they pass a parking spot half a block behind them. I never claim I "almost got killed when an unexpected pedestrian stepped into the bike lane." When a pedestrian steps off the sidewalk, I knew he was a danger because I saw him NEAR the street without paying attention to the bike lane and I paid extra attention to him. Other people's actions are never unexpected if you expect them to behave erratically. Give yourself room to maneuver around them - anything that happens to your while you're on your bike is YOUR FAULT.

I thought people identified a certain toughness and independent spirit with being a biker. When people whine about how hard it is to do something optional I want to tell them to keep their complaints to themselves and just not do it.

sorry I don't have an account

My name is Ryan

In fact, in retrospect I wonder if my provocative friend in the red sweater may have been the masterful bike ninja Ryan himself.

In the end, I realized arguing further would only reaffirm their stereotypes about "roadie fusspots" who are too "stuck up" to tow complete strangers around the park, despite the fact that I spend a significant amount of time riding around the city in jeans and on a "fixie," to which my douche-tacular Observer photo attests. (Plus, I was getting winded due to my aforementioned feebleness.) Instead, I simply told them I was pleased to see they were riding bicycles, told them to be safe, and assured them that in 10 years they'll know what I'm talking about. (Which of course they won't, since they will almost certainly have moved away or else given up cycling by then.) More than anything though, the encounter made me miss the days before New York City got itself a "bike culture" and instead just had a whole bunch of people riding bikes without being so aggressively stupid about it.

He was right about one thing, though--I am a total "pussy."

BSNYC Friday Fun Quiz!

Firstly, I'd like to take this opportunity to remind you of my upcoming BRA (or "Book-Related Appearance.") However, it turns out I don't have any upcoming BRAs (or "Book-Related Appearances") scheduled at the moment, so instead I'll just gratuitously remind you about other things. For example, today is Art Garfunkel's birthday, so remember to send him a card. (Make sure you don't sign it "Here's to you Mr. Garfunkel, Regis loves you more than you will know." It really annoys him.) Also, a week from tomorrow on Saturday, November 13th, there is a cyclocross race on Staten Island:

As I've mentioned before, we're now living in the era known as "Cyclocross 2.0," so given the waterfront venue it is ideally situated for docking the vessel you will require in order to transport all your cyclocross essentials.

Speaking of my book, as I've mentioned before it is now available in the UK and Australia as of this week, and out of curiosity I visited the ".co.uk" URLway of that online retailer named after a popular South American river to see if they had it in stock. I'm pleased to report that they did, but I'm displeased to report that it is not the #1 cycling title on that website. In fact, the #1 cycling book on [insert name of popular South American river here].co.uk is "100 Greatest Cycling Climbs: A Road Cyclist's Guide to Britain's Hills:"

Now, I didn't really expect to be #1, but to be beaten by a book that combines "Greatest Cycling Climbs" and "Britain's Hills" is like releasing an album and being beaten by "Vanilla Ice's Greatest Hits." Mont Ventoux, Alpe d'Huez, the Stelvio--now these are great climbs. Meanwhile, "Britain's Hills" are more like this:



Granted, I haven't ridden Mont Ventoux, or Alpe d'Huez, or the Stelvio, or any of the hills of Britain, so the truth is I have no idea what I'm talking about.

By the way, my book wasn't the #2 cycling title either. That distinction goes to a similarly oxymoronic tome:

Scandalously, rumor has it that the author, a professional cyclist himself, actually consumed pork at certain points in his career to aid in recovery. This is often referred to as "Jewish doping."

Speaking of religion, a reader informs me that noted musician and cycling advocate David Byrne has become an ordained minister and is now marrying people:

("By the power of smugness vested in me...")

I was particularly amused to note that Byrne manages to remind the world yet again that he doesn't have a car, as if we didn't know this already. David Byrne reminds people that he doesn't have a car in the same way that rappers remind their listeners that they're rich, or that "The Only Gay in the Village" reminds people that he's gay. In fact, his book, "The Bicycle Diaries," is perhaps the most "epic" reminder of the author's non-car ownership the literary world has ever seen. Yes, you live in Manhattan where you don't need a car, and when you travel you get chauffeured around. I get it. I'll prick up my ears when he writes a sequel called, "Fuck It, I'm Buying a Hummer."

And now, I'm pleased to present you with a quiz. As always, study the item, think, and click on your answer. If you're right you'll know, and if you're wrong you will see folding.

Thanks very much for reading, ride safe, and fold like the wind.

--BSNYC/RTMS

(Mark "The Man Missile" Cavendish administers a self breast exam while conferring with his doctor on a pretend cellphone.)

1. Mark Cavendish doesn't have a problem with:

--Late night doping controls

--Early morning interviews

--Adequate signal strength on his make-believe finger phone

--Full-frontal nudity, as long as it's tasteful

("It was the vest of times, it was the man-purse of times.")

2. Rapha's "A Tale of Two Cycling Cities" essay includes mention of:

--A "dodgy crotch"

--A "dicky zip"

--A "zippy dick"

--A "booby hatch"

3. Which is not a recent Bozeman Daily Chronicle news item?

--"Elk Bike Strikes Again"
--"Brucellosis Turns Up on Flying D"
--"Officials Seek Information on Horse Shooting"
--"Musician and Author David Byrne Does Not Own Car"

("Good girl, here's a biscuit.")

4. When doing a bicycle component photo shoot for Craigslist, make sure to:

--Include a disembodied thumb

--Include a disembodied foot

--Set it in a sauna

--All of the above

5. Faster than the speed of:

--"Lite"

--Sound

--Smell

--A leafblower

(Permafrost is the new beard.)

6. This winter, the hottest cycling accessory is the:

--Beard defroster

--Insulated penis bag

--Handlebar-mounted salt spreader

--Warming suppository

(Bicycles are Barbie dolls for "hipsters.")

7. This winter, the hottest bicycle accessory is the:

--Top tube pad

--Stem pad

--Headtube mustache

--Bottom bracket merkin

***Special Celebrity Car Ownership-Themed Bonus Question***

("I'd change my outfit but I don't own a car.")

David Byrne owns a car.

--True

--False

Tim-burrr! I Can't Tell a Lie (But I'd Be Happy to Sell You One)

(LATFH: Look At This Federalist Hipster)

Well over two centuries ago, a highly spurious tale has it that a boy named George Washington (who would go on to become the first President of the United States, or Canada's electrolarynx) wielded his hatchet and butchered a lovely cherry tree. When confronted by his father, Pedro Moishe Aloysius Washington, about what happened to the tree, young George was unable to lie. Forthright to a fault, he instead admitted:

"I can't tell a lie, Pa; you know I can't tell a lie. I did cut it with my hatchet."

Profoundly moved, Pedro Moishe Aloysius Washington replied:

"Run to my arms; glad am I, George, that you killed my tree; for you have paid me for it a thousand fold. Such an act of heroism in my son is more worth than a thousand trees, though blossomed with silver, and their fruits of purest gold."

Unfortunately, young Washington was only able to bask in filial affection and loquacious praise for a short time, because he was subsequently arrested and executed in accordance with the strict cherry tree protection laws in effect in the colonies at the time, and the George Washington who would go on to lead the American army to victory and ultimately become our first President was in fact a robot.

Fast forward to our present time, in which hatches and axes and wood-splitting and tree-felling are no longer associated with honesty. Instead they have been cleaved from it in the same way a feeble "hipster" who tries to use his artisanal axe to open a packet of firm tofu accidentally divorces his hand from his tattooed forearm, and are now yet another symbol of conspicuous consumption. Furthermore, axe sales are increasingly becoming the domain of the huckster, as exemplified by companies like "Base Camp X," whom I mentioned in yesterday's post:

Naturally, these companies don't actually make anything; instead, they simply "bedazzle" existing items made by others and create an aesthetic environment in which to buy them. This requires a delicate balance of hyperbole and obfuscation, and it involves three steps:

1. Establish the Product's Authenticity

In primitive cultures, people believed that they could gain their enemy's courage by eating their hearts (or, in Great Britain, their pudding). Today, urbanites with disposable income believe they can gain authenticity by buying an "authentic" product. Consequently, it is essential to establish this authenticity. For example, fixed-gears are "authentic" because they are older than freewheels and because messengers supposedly prefer them. Similarly, axes are "authentic" because they're the fixed-gears of tools. As "Base Camp X" says:

An axe is one of the oldest tools in existence and some even argue that it is the oldest form of art known to mankind.

2. Reassure the Customer

Killing your enemy is the easy part; carving out his heart and consuming it is the real test of one's mettle. Similarly, it's easy to fork over some money in exchange for an "authentic" product, but it's hard to actually use that product to its full potential. This is why it's essential for companies like these to reassure you by saying, essentially, "Don't worry--you don't actually have to eat the heart." In terms of "urban" cycling, this involves selling stuff that is supposedly messenger-worthy while assuring customers that they don't have to be messengers to buy it. In terms of artisanal axes, it involves reassuring customers that they don't actually have to use the axe:

Our axes are built to be used but there is absolutely no reason why it cannot find a home on your wall, hanging above the hearth or simply leaning up beside your desk. An axe is so versatile that it can be used to manage a forest, adorn a wall, provide heat for a home or simply start a conversation…

Sure, it's silly--the only product you actually want to buy and never have to use is insurance--but nevertheless it works. By the way, I'm not sure a single person with an axe can "manage" a forest. To paraphrase Yakov Smirnoff, "In nature, forest manage you."

3. Tell the Truth Quickly and Hope Nobody Notices

As shifty as companies like "Base Camp X" are, even they won't go so far as to lie and say they're making something that they're not. So like those drug commercials where they squeeze in a bunch of possible side effects at the end and hope you're not paying attention, they bury somewhere on the site that all they're doing is taking an axe and burning their logo into it:

Searing the BCX logo into the handle by hand is all part of the process in creating one of our axes.

Incidentally, a reader and "axe-pert" surmises that the "Titanis" [prounounced \ˈtīt\-\ˈā-nəs\] line of "Base Camp X" axes is probably based on this:

At NZ$285 (or approximately US$226, or just over 1 million Zambian Kwacha) that's a lot of Kwacha, but it's still pocket Kwacha compared to the $500+ you'll pay for the "Base Camp X." This means you're paying about $300 for some shellac, a hand-branded logo, and a whole lotta douchery.

Really, it's "cultural snake-handling" at its most refined. I suppose when the "Americana backwoods revival" movement ends they'll all move on to something equally useless, like cat-confusing.

Ironically then, it would seem that the humble axe--once a symbol of the prized American attributes of honesty, integrity, and self-sufficiency--has now come to embody the practice of rebranding, which seems to be the only form of labor we continue to perform domestically. Fortunately, though, good old-fashioned innovation isn't completely dead, for a reader recently forwarded me a link to the ThermaJock, which is a penis warmer for men (as well as, presumably, women with penises) who engage in outdoor activities such as cycling:

So how does it work? Well, here's a simple diagram:
If you're still not convinced, be assured that it has been subject to rigorous testing:

Tom came up with a prototype and quickly began to test it while running, walking the dog, or hanging out in his house. After creating the initial design, Christina and Tom began working with local garment designers and manufacturers to refine and perfect the prototype and began asking local athletes to test it. After sorting through piles of valuable feedback, the final design was established.

The website fails to indicate whether or not Tom ever ran afoul of the law, since I'd think walking the dog while wearing nothing but a coin purse on your penis would be a good way to get arrested. It's also unclear as to whether the ThermaJock has room for the "pants yabbies" too, or if it's strictly a "one-car garage." In any case, I can't wait until "Base Camp X" starts rebranding these as "woodsman's sheaths" and prices them accordingly. (For best results, wear it with the new Rapha bib shorts that feature a "dicky zip.")

Finally, another reader informs me that the hottest new off-season cross-training trend may very well be sailing:

In the race to own ever more exotic and expensive time trial bikes, it was only a matter of time before someone decided to take one and built a yacht around it.